Consequences
by avdubs
Summary: War can make people do crazy things, things they swore they'd never do. War always come with consequences, and if you're not prepared for that, it will ruin you. One-shot.


A/N: Just an idea that I've had for a little bit now and decided to finally write! Enjoy and let me know what you think!

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_Week 24_

War had a nasty habit of changing people in ways you'd least expect. They fucked with your head and ripped your heart out. It made you question every decision you made, it could drive the sanest of men mad.

Like say, fucking Hermione Granger.

They were put in the same safe house and for the first six months the only interactions they had were screaming matches and swears mumbled under their breath when the other entered a room. He had despised her, not because of blood, but just because she was Hermione. She was a know-it-all, nosy and insufferable. He swore his ears would bleed when she started to talk and she questioned his every move right before they were about to go into battle. Hermione Granger was absolutely infuriating.

Maybe that's why he found great satisfaction in making her scream as he thrust himself into her, and watching her screw up her face in a mix of pleasure and pain.

He didn't know how they ended up here. One minute she was screaming at him and the next she was naked underneath him. Maybe it was the five glasses of firewhiskey coursing through his veins or all the fucking stress and worry that came with the war. Maybe it was because watching her fought away the nagging reminders of the friends he had lost.

Whatever the reason, this is all she was. A stress relief. An apparently very excellent fuck.

As soon as they finished and collapsed on to the sheets covered in sweat, he told her she could leave. He heard her call him a prat under her breath and slammed the door on her way out.

He checked the clock to see it was nearly four in the morning. His muscles were sore and his bones felt like weights in his limbs. Sleep came to him quickly that night, and he hated that he had Hermione to thank for that.

.

_Week 39_

He sees her crying in the kitchen and sighs at the sight of her. He pours himself a glass of whiskey, and tells her she should be used to it by now. Death. It happened every day.

She stares at him in horror and asks him how he can think that.

He almost wishes he had an answer for her. Almost. Instead he scowls and studies the dark amber liquid before shaking his head and leaving her staring after him.

"Insensitive bastard." she mutters as the tears start to flow again.

.

The whiskey made him numb. And numb was better than crying yourself to sleep, terrified for your remaining friends and family. He didn't like to think about it.

.

_Week 41 _

She was in his bed again for the second time since it first happened four months ago. She had been reading in the living room when he sought her out; he had gone to fight that day. He was covered in blood and had a bruise on his cheek. She didn't ask about it.

She was panting and dragging her nails down his back. He was gripping her hips so roughly she thought they might bruise and his sweat was dripping onto her forehead.

She stayed in his bed for only a moment before he asked her to leave and she didn't make a sound in protest. He heard her fumble around in the dark for her jeans and sweater, then the soft click of the door.

He rolled over and sighed, allowing sleep to take over.

.

_Week 50_

It was her this time that came to him. He was in the middle of making himself dinner when she stormed into the kitchen and pressed her lips against his. It was the first time they had kissed and she tasted like tears and blood. He noticed she was crying; the thought crossed his mind to stop her. But her hands were grabbing at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. They didn't even make it to the bedroom.

She sat at the table with her knees drawn to her chest and a steaming mug of tea on the table in front of her. He finished adding sugar to his tea and started to leave when he heard her whisper "Ron's dead."

He pursed his lips and stopped to pat her on the shoulder on his way out.

.

_Week 56 _

Draco wakes up from another nightmare and wandered to her room before crawling between her sheets. She stirred and snapped her eyes open when she saw him laying next to her. She had never seen him look so scared, so vulnerable as he did in that moment. Maybe she stared at him longer than she should have.

Her eyes lashes fluttered and she inhaled a sharp breath before scooting closer and meeting his lips.

He took his time, switching positions and relishing the rush flooding his body. He wasn't sure if it was shagging her or just being with her that chased his nightmares away. He decided he didn't care.

She asked him to leave, sounding more bitter than she probably should have. She pretended not to notice the hesitation in his movements, as if he were giving her time to change her mind.

He couldn't fall back asleep.

_Week 63_

He says good morning to her when she climbs down the stairs, entering the living room with her unruly hair and horrid morning breath. She stops in her tracks and studies him, like she wasn't sure it was really him.

"Where's Moody?" she asks, staring around the empty living room.

Draco turned his head to look at her, his face looking grim. Her eyes welled with tears and before she knew what she was doing she plopped herself down on the couch next to him and turned her attention to the blank wall he was staring at.

They were only inches apart. She swore she could feel the heat of his body, but then again it could have just been her pajamas still warm with slumber.

He thought about moving closer to her but reminded himself a war was no time to get close to people. They could be taken away from you any second.

He didn't know how long they sat like that for, and he didn't ask her to leave.

_Week 68_

If you were lucky, you had good days and bad days during a war. Usually a good day meant being able to get out of bed or not doubling over when you remember who died the day before.

A bad day, for Hermione at least, meant stealing a bottle of wine to her room and isolating herself. These were the days when it was hard to forget she had lost one of her best friends. Ron's death still hadn't processed and there were times when she forgot.

If she was having this much trouble with it, she couldn't imagine how the Weasleys were doing.

She found him in the bathroom and somehow managed to cast a silencing spell. He started to yell at her about knocking and 'a little thing called privacy' but she practically lunged herself at him, s ending her body crashing into his. He stumbled for a moment, falling against the tile wall.

He ripped her shirt from her feverishly and made a beeline for her neck. She was gasping and his fingers were traveling down, down, down. She kissed and moaned and focused solely on the pleasure welling up inside her until all thoughts of those she lost were long gone and she couldn't stand without getting dizzy.

She wiped her mouth and grabbed her clothes before rushing out. He had slid down the wall, breathing heavily and watched her leave.

He had wondered what it would have been like to hug her.

.

_Week 72_

He sat in the kitchen with her and he laughed a joke she made as she cooked breakfast.

War never let you have more than a moment of happiness. And right on cue, Theo burst into the room, looking as though he would fall apart any second, a trickle of blood slipping down his temple and onto his cheek.

"Mate," he said hoarsely, his voice cracking slightly. "Blaise..."

Hermione shut her eyes and knew this was her cue to leave. The bacon burned and Draco punched the wall eight times. He was sure every knuckle in his left was broken and it still didn't numb the pain.

He found Hermione waiting for him expectantly in her room, already undressed.

But this time, he didn't kiss her. He didn't spread apart her legs and let her engulf him. This time, he collapsed next to her and let the sobs shake his body until his bones rattled. And when he was done he fell asleep to the soft incantations she whispered to his broken hand.

.

_Week 80_

He didn't go near her for eight weeks. He threw himself into planning escape routes, setting up groups for battle and leading meetings on their latest strategies. He even started arguments in the hopes it would drive her away. He had gotten to close to her. And it couldn't happen again.

She was red faced with tear tracks glistening in the moonlight. She yelled herself hoarse and called him a few names before turning on her heel and storming out of the kitchen.

He wanted her back. He called for her but she was gone.

.

_Week 87_

She shouldn't have let him back into her bed, but it had been a rough week. She needed this as much as he did. And Merlin did she love the way he felt inside her.

He fell asleep almost immediately after and she didn't have the heart to wake him.

When the sunlight streaming through her curtains woke her, she noticed the empty space next to her and shook her head. She rolled back over and pushed away the memories of last night until she fell asleep again.

He lay in his own bed, the sheets cold against his bare chest. He shouldn't have left.

_Week 99_

She whimpered into his mouth, tasting his desire slide down her throat. He was unusually passionate and tender tonight. His hands were stroking her arms and the kisses along her neck were more like light pecks.

He held her close afterwards and fell asleep with her still in his arms.

His sheets were so warm and her body was drained. Her eyes felt heavy like stones and she couldn't form a proper thought.

He woke early that morning, the sun just starting to appear out of the horizon, to her slipping her shirt back on and sliding out his door.

_Week 105_

He came back from the battle that day with a black eye and seething rage. Not only had they lost almost a quarter of the people they went in with, but most of the Death Eaters had escaped. And it was all his fault, or so he thought at least.

Her door burst open to revealing him standing there. He barreled towards her, slamming her into the wall and stuffed his tongue down her throat. She wrapped her arms around his back, holding him close. He pulled her hands off of him and pinned them above her head, holding them in place with only one hand and used the other to wrap around her throat.

She pushed her body against him and deepened the kiss, encouraging him to continue.

"Get on the bed and lay on your stomach." he ordered, his voice gravelly.

He was on top of her, holding a hand over her mouth, silencing her screams. His other hand held her hands to her back. She could hear him grunting, pushing himself as deep as he could go. Her body writhed as he brought her to orgasm, his body heavy against hers. He was panting in her ear and everything was black and silent as her body went limp.

He was laying next to her, his head buried in the nook of her neck. It was the second time he cried in front of her. This time, it was the slow circle patterns she was drawing with her fingertips on his back that lulled him to sleep.

_Week 111_

The final battle was drawing closer, everyone could feel it. Hermione let herself into his room that night, sitting herself on his bed. His arms found her waist and pulled her to him. They lay together in his bed, limbs tangled and the silence deafening.

"I'm scared, Draco." she whispered into the darkness.

He rested his chin on the top of her head and hugged her tight.

"So am I."

They slept just like that the whole night.

_Week 111, Day 4_

It was over. Just like that. All forces had been called into battle and he no idea what the final death count turned out to be. But it didn't matter. The only one that mattered at this point was her lifeless body laying in the mud in front of him. How fucking ironic, he thought.

He clenched his jaw to hold back the lump in his throat and couldn't look at her for more than a few seconds without a tear falling from his pale lashes.

She was gone. The look of shock still etched upon her face.

He was stupid. So fucking stupid. He let her in. He got close to her. And this is where it got him. All for what? A fair few nights of shagging to forget the war?

He lowered himself to his knees, the mud soiling his pants further. He placed his trembling lips on her forehead before pulling away and choking back a sob. He stood up straight, wiped away the stray tears and squared his shoulders.

He started to walk away, not knowing and not caring where he was going. All he knew was that she wouldn't be there anymore. There would be no one to mend his bones or rub his back or even scream at him at two in the morning. He was alone before, and he was alone now.

Whoever said they'd rather have loved and lost than never have loved at all was a fucking imbecile, he thought.


End file.
